Webb's Posse (22 page)

“Yeah,” said Teasdale. “Everybody be real careful we don't get one another caught in a cross fire.” He looked at the others and added, “The fact is, the Peltrys are probably already gone…but we're taking no chances. Anybody in there makes a wrong move, don't think twice about shooting them. Just make sure it's not one of us.”

Webb and Summers pulled away from the others, cut up onto the sloping mountainside off the trail and circled up above Diablo Espinazo. They sat atop their horses, watching as Teasdale, Hayes and Hargrove circled down off the trail and came back toward the small town from the far side of the clearing. “All right, let's go,” said Summers, seeing the others begin to make their move. Riding down the slope, Summers and Webb arrived in the dusty clearing only seconds before the other four men. But in those few seconds, they saw the grisly scene awaiting them, and they slid their horses to a halt.

“Lord God, what is this?” Webb whispered in revulsion. In the center of a wide clearing beside the stone wall of the community well, the bodies of the old man and his wife swung slowly back and forth from the limb of an ancient white oak.

“I'd say this was what those six shots we heard was all about,” said Summers, nodding at the bullet holes in the old man's chest. “Easy, boy,” he whispered to his horse, feeling the animal grow nervous beneath him. Then he said to Webb, “Stay right here. Keep an eye on the adobe. There's almost always somebody here.” He coaxed his horse forward, drawing his knife from his boot to cut the bodies from the oak limb. But as Summers neared the tree and stood up in his saddle to reach the ropes above the bodies, a young man came running from the adobe swinging a machete, sobbing and cursing in Spanish.

“Summers, look out!” shouted Abner Webb. As soon as the young man heard Abner Webb's voice, he spun in Webb's direction and charged toward him from twenty feet away, the machete swinging back and forth, making a slicing sound through the air.

“Murderers!
Asesinar a perros!
” the young man screamed in blind rage.

“No!” Webb shouted. But his instincts took over as the long blade came slicing closer to him. His horse shied back, whinnying loudly, and tried to rear up with him. Just as the horse's front hooves lifted, Webb's rifle came up from his lap, cocked and fired. The young man's feet continued to run, but the ground no longer lay beneath them. He flew backward with the impact of the bullet hammering his chest. Then he hit the ground dead, a circle of blood spreading across his shirt. The machete clattered for a second on the hard-packed dirt, then fell silent.

Coming into the clearing from one end of town,
Sherman Dahl, Cherokee Rhodes and Edmund Daniels spread out, their rifles raised and ready. From the other end of the clearing, Teasdale, Hayes and Hargrove did the same. From the adobe came a long wail as an old woman ran out and flung herself onto the body of the young man lying in the dirt. “My God, I killed him,” Webb said, staring down at the body, his rifle still smoking in his hand. His horse settled beneath him and scraped a hoof in the dirt.

Will Summers trotted his horse up to him, having cut the ropes and let the old couple's bodies fall to the ground. “I saw the whole thing, Deputy. He gave you no choice. It was you or him.”

“No choice?” Abner Webb stared at Summers, stunned. “I—I killed him, Will. He thought I was one of them…and I killed him. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Yeah,” said Summers. “More than you think.”

From inside the adobe, more goatherders ventured out, the men with their straw sombreros in their hands, the women with shawls drawn across their heads. “Mother of God,” an old goatherder whispered.

“Schoolmaster,” said Summers as Sherman Dahl and Edmund Daniels came closer, “ride him out of here. He don't need to be here, and these people don't need to see him.” Cherokee Rhodes stayed back, keeping his rifle up and ready, his eyes searching back and forth along the edge of the trail.

“Come on, Deputy,” said Dahl, reaching a hand out to Webb's horse's bridle. “There's nothing you can do here. Let these people take care of the boy.”

“The boy?” Webb looked crushed, realizing for the first time that the young man in the dirt was not much older than the schoolchildren he watched play every afternoon on the streets back in Rileyville.

“I didn't mean
boy
,” said Sherman Dahl, seeing the effect his words had had on Webb. “Come on, let's go.” He took Webb's horse by its bridle and began leading it toward the other side of the clearing.

“Turn loose of my horse!” said Webb, jerking his reins and seeming to snap out of a dark, trancelike state. Dahl dropped back, and he and Daniels followed Webb until the deputy stopped his horse and turned it around. Then Dahl and Daniels flanked him. The three of them sat watching the old goatherders pick up the young man and carry him to the adobe. One old woman looked over at Abner Webb, spit on the back of her hand and slung it toward the ground, cursing him.

“I should have warned him first,” said Abner Webb. “I should have fired a warning shot over his head or something…anything at all instead of this.”

“There was no time, Deputy Webb,” said Sherman Dahl. “It happened too fast. I saw what you did. We all saw it. I expect all these people here saw it too. If you had waited another second, it would be you out there, and us picking you up. It was all a terrible mistake…. But which end of that terrible mistake would you rather be on?”

“Right now, I honestly don't know,” said Webb, avoiding Dahl's eyes as he replied. “All I know is it's going to be a long time before I ever sleep nights. You're right about it happening too fast though. I swear it happened so fast it seems like nothing could've stopped it.”

Edmund Daniels had been sitting in silence watching the people carry the body away. Quietly he said, “This don't change nothing between us, Deputy, but the schoolmaster's right. One of you was going to die out there. It might just as well have been him as
you. There didn't seem to be anything going to stop it. Now there ain't nothing going to change it.”

Without answering, Abner Webb stared straight ahead, watching some of the people go to the bodies of the old couple on the ground and tote them away toward the adobe. The old man's chest was riddled with bullet holes. A large portion of the old woman's scalp was missing. Summers, Teasdale and Hargrove trotted their horses over, joining them in a huddle. Campbell Hayes and Cherokee Rhodes stayed out in the center of the clearing, watching the trail in each direction.

“Damn, Deputy, are you all right?” Summers asked, keeping an eye on the goatherders as he spoke.

“Yeah, I'll do,” said Webb. “Don't bother telling me it couldn't be helped. I've already been told.”

“All right, I won't,” said Summers. He nodded at the old couple's bodies as the goatherders carried them away. “This was the Peltrys' way of getting our attention…telling us to get off their trail. Only we're not going to listen to it, are we?” He looked at the men. They nodded silently.

“We're in too deep to turn back now,” said Sherman Dahl, nodding toward the adobe where the sound of the old woman's grief could be heard as if seeping out of the ancient blocks of sun-hardened clay.

“Then what are we waiting for?” asked Sergeant Teasdale. “Fill your canteens, and let's get riding.”

“I feel like I need to go say something to those folks…apologize or something,” said Abner Webb. His face was ashen in torment; his lips looked pale and dry.

“Apologize? Damn little good that'll do them. They know you didn't come here to kill him,” said
Will Summers. “There's nothing more can be said about it. All they know is that the two of you come upon this same spot of ground at the same time. Now one of you is dead and one is living. These people don't need life and death explained to them, especially not by the likes of us. It's best you leave them alone. They've seen a damn sight more of this sort of thing than any of us have.”

“He's right, Deputy,” said Sherman Dahl. “We need to ride. We may never get this close to the Peltrys again before they hit the border. All talking to these people will do is make you feel better, but it won't help them one bit.”

“Then to hell with all of you. Let's ride!” said Abner Webb, jerking his horse around away from the others and gigging it off along the trail.

“You men hurry and take on water for yourselves,” said Will Summers, lifting his canteen strap from around his saddle horn and pitching the canteen to Sherman Dahl. “Fill mine too. I'll catch up to Webb and keep an eye on him. Looks like he ain't thinking straight right now.”

The men watched in silence until Will Summers' horse disappeared around a turn in the trail. “Whatever's bothering the deputy, I hope he gets over it pretty quick,” said Campbell Hayes. He reached a hand down and idly patted Junior's head as the dog came up and sniffed at his leg. “A man needs to be at his best on this kind of manhunt.” He looked over at Sherman Dahl and Edmund Daniels. “You men are both from Rileyville. What kind of man is the deputy?”

Instead of answering Hayes, Sherman Dahl looked at Edmund Daniels, deliberately turning the question over to him. “You know him better than I do, Daniels. What do you say?”

Edmund Daniels' jaw tightened, but then he swallowed hard, as if ridding himself of a bad taste in his mouth, and said, “When it comes to law work, I reckon I've seen worse.” The men looked at him, waiting for more, but Daniels had no more to offer.

“If you're all through socializing,” said Teasdale, “get watered and move out. We've got a long way to go.”

The German captain, Hans Oberiske, had dropped back from the head of the dusty column of Mexican
Federales
to rest his horse for a moment in the dark shade of a cliff overhang. To Captain Oberiske, riding patrol along the border this time of year was as close to being trapped in a hot, raging hell as he could imagine. From beneath the overhang, he stared out across the valley below and watched the heat swirl and dance as it rose ever upward. The flatlands were a white-hot living demon, he had come to believe, and whatever assignment brought him here he accomplished as quickly as possible, then hurried back into the cooler climate of the high mountain valleys.

“
Salud
,” he murmured to himself, practicing his Spanish. He raised his canteen as if drinking a silent toast to such wisdom. When he lowered the canteen, he resisted the urge to pour the rest of the tepid water over his burning neck. But it was dusk now, and soon the crisp night air would blow in and soothe his torment. He could wait another hour…surely he could. Since his arrival here with the German training forces over a year ago, this terrible land had taught him patience if nothing else. As he capped his canteen, he saw Sergeant Hector Hervisu riding back toward him along the line of tired horses and men.

“Capitán,”
said Hervisu, jerking his horse to a stop and spinning the animal in place. “Riders…many of them. They are coming down from the border. I believe it is the
loco americano
brothers and their men. They are heavily armed.”

“Oh?” Captain Oberiske looked at him. “How heavily armed?”

“They are pulling a gun wagon with a big Gatling rifle on it, and they are also pulling a supply wagon filled up past its sideboards.”

“A machine rifle, eh?” Captain Hans Oberiske perked up instantly. “Come, let's take a look at them. Perhaps it is time we confronted those two and explained to them exactly who is the real authority here.”

“Sí, Capitán
,” said Hervisu. “But there are many of them: over a dozen, I think. And they are some bold
hombres
, these Peltrys.”

As Captain Oberiske tapped his spurs to his horse's sides, he said over his shoulder to Sergeant Hervisu, “We have twenty-eight of your Mexican light cavalry here, Sergeant. Are you suggesting we cannot handle this band of American rabble?”

“No,
Capitán
, I would not dare suggest such a thing to you,” said Sergeant Hervisu, gigging his horse forward and catching up to Captain Oberiske. “But as long as they have such powerful weapons, perhaps it is wise that we do not provoke them.”

“Provoke them…ha! What do I care if we provoke them? We are the law in Mexico. We are the ones who established peace and put down the revolution here. We are the ones who should have such weapons, not them! You must learn to think and act with deliberation, Sergeant, if you and your nation are ever to amount to anything in this world.”

“Sí, Capitán
, you are right of course,” said the sergeant.
He followed quietly until the captain came to the front of the column and raised a hand, halting the tired men and horses.

Captain Oberiske raised a pair of binoculars that he wore tied to a cord around his neck. Looking out into the valley below in the failing light, he saw the procession of riders and the two wagons filing across the flatlands, both men and beasts pushing hard toward a trail reaching in between two tall standing rocks. “Ah, they go to the river valley.” He lowered the binoculars, wiped the lens on his shirtsleeve, then raised them again.